“It’s degrading, Friend,” Opal added, tears forming. “I’m ashamed of myself, I am. I feel my body being torn from my—my sense of self, or soul or whatever you want to call it; whatever’s at the heart of me.”
“I am sorry,” 43-1-12 whispered. “I understand.”
“Do you?”
“I think so.”
She resolved not to submit. She would find a way to assert her power, to take action. One night while Opal was away, she carefully removed a support board about the length of her arm from under their mattress. It would have to do, she thought, hiding it within a long pocket she had stitched into her cloak. The guards would soon tire of Opal and desire someone else. She was surprised they had not done so already.
Signs of the coming spring began to show. Temperatures became milder during the day, warmed by mom
